The Girls of Chequertrees

  *CHAPTER III*

  *BERYL*

  When Pamela alighted at Barrowfield station on the Tuesday afternoondaylight was beginning to fade and a fine drizzling rain had set in.She gazed round the deserted platform, and gave a shiver as a chillylittle breeze rustled past her, stirring the loose bits of paper on thestone paving and making the half-closed door of the General Waiting Roomcreak dismally as it pushed it farther open. Pamela had been sittingfor an hour and a half in the train, and she felt cold and stiff andsuddenly depressed. She was the only passenger to get out atBarrowfield, and the only living soul about the place as far as shecould see was a porter, who now came strolling down the platform andtook charge of her luggage.

  "Where to, miss?" inquired the porter; and his voice at once remindedPamela of the voice of a man who used to come round selling muffins inOldminster, and this made her conjure up an instant's vision of home andMother and Michael and all of them sitting round the fire while Doristoasted muffins for tea. It was a ridiculous thing to think of at thismoment, but she could not help it. How she wished she were at home,toasting muffins.... But the man was waiting.

  "Miss Crabingway's house, Chequertrees," she answered. "Is it far fromhere?"

  "'Bout a mile an' 'arf, Chequertrees is," said the porter.

  "Oh, dear," said Pamela. "Well, can I get a cab or anything?"

  Before the porter could reply the sound of heavy footsteps was heard onthe wooden floor of the station entrance, and the next moment Tom Bagghove into sight. Of course Pamela did not know what his name was then,though she knew it well enough afterward; you could not help knowing itif you stayed in Barrowfield more than a couple of hours, because MrBagg was a local celebrity. However, all Pamela knew at present was thata fat, burly man with an enormous waterproof cape and a waterproof hatstood before her. Here was the very person she wanted--the Barrowfieldcab-man. He touched his hat with a fat forefinger.

  "Evenin', miss. Ascuse me, but are you the young lady forChequertrees?" he asked.

  When Pamela had informed him that she was, he told her that he had hadinstructions from Miss Crabingway to convey her and her luggage from thestation.

  So Pamela got into the welcome cab outside, and was driven away throughthe dusk. She could not see much through the blurred and steamingwindows, and the little she could make out appeared to be all hedges andtrees. Presently she could feel that the cab was going downhill, thenthe pace slackened and it seemed to climb a little, then for a long time(or so it seemed to Pamela) the cab jogged along on level ground. Theslow pace at which the cab moved along, the impossibility of seeinganything through the windows, and her impatience to reach her journey'send, made it seem a very long mile and a half from the station.

  All at once the cab stopped with a violent jerk. And here wasChequertrees, at last. Tom Bagg clambered down from his seat and heldthe cab door open while Pamela got quickly out. He smiled genially downat her, and then pulled the iron bell-chain outside the gate of thehouse.

  While Tom Bagg got her boxes down from the cab Pamela gazed at the housewhich was to be her home for the next six months. She could not seevery much of the house from the gate--a tall iron-barred gate set into ahigh wall topped with ivy. There was a long and wide gravel path up tothe front door, and Pamela could see that the house was covered with ivyand had many windows. The garden struck her as being a lovely place forhide-and-seek, on account of its thick bushes and number of big trees.As she passed through the gate and made her way along the path, thecabman following with her luggage, she saw that there was a light in oneof the windows behind a red blind.

  She had no time to notice anything else before the front door was openedby a middle-aged servant in white cap and apron.

  "Oh, I'm Miss Heath--Pamela Heath," said Pamela, as the maid waitedsilently.

  "Oh, please come in, miss," said the maid. "Miss Crabingway told us toexpect you."

  Pamela stepped in, then turned to the cabman, remembering his fare; butshe was told that he had already been paid by Miss Crabingway, and wasgoing back to meet the next down train and fetch another young lady tothe house--"What I was told you was expecting here," he said to themaid.

  "That's right," she replied. "Two more young ladies we are expectingto-night."

  "Oh, aye. Two it might be--one for certain. _I_ remember. Goodevenin', miss." And depositing Pamela's boxes in the hall the cabmantook his departure.

  Pamela then became aware that another white-aproned servant was standingat the back of the hall, waiting to receive her; she was quite anelderly woman with white hair. Directly Pamela caught sight of herkind, motherly old face, the feeling of depression that had been withher ever since she had got out at Barrowfield station fell away fromher, and she felt at home. This was Martha, she learnt, and Ellen itwas who had opened the front door. In the few minutes' talk Pamela hadwith them before being shown upstairs to her bedroom to take off heroutdoor things and have a wash, she gathered that Miss Crabingway haddeparted yesterday morning, and had left word that all orders were to betaken from Miss Pamela, "just as if it was Miss Crabingway herself thatwas telling us what to do," volunteered Ellen. It made Pamela feelawfully young and inefficient and responsible to hear these two elderly,experienced housekeepers asking _her_ for orders.

  "Oh, you'll please go on just as usual, won't you? ... It's all sostrange and new to me--I do hope you'll help me to do things right. I'llhave to come and talk things over with you presently," she said.

  And though Ellen declared in tones of great solemnity that anything thatshe could do to be of use to Miss Pamela would be done with pleasure,yet it was the kindly smile in Martha's eyes that comforted Pamela.Things would be all right, she felt, so long as Martha was there.

  Pamela felt a great liking for Martha from the first--she seemed such asensible, cheerful soul; and the more Pamela got to know about herafterward the more she respected and trusted her. Ellen she was not sosure about, though she grew to like her later on, in spite of hermelancholy expression and tone of voice. Pamela was not long indiscovering that Ellen had grown to enjoy her melancholy as other peopleenjoy their happiness. It was an art in which Ellen certainly excelled.She could relate at great length, when in the mood, all the variousstrokes of bad fortune that had fallen on her numerous relatives andacquaintances, and all the illnesses they had suffered from, and diedof, and her favourite recreation was wandering round old churchyards andexclaiming over the early age at which numbers of people died.

  But though Martha and Ellen might be opposite temperamentally, yet theycertainly united in making Pamela very welcome on her arrival atChequertrees, and she found them most kind and willing and anxious tomake her comfortable. Ellen carried her boxes up to the bedroom, whileMartha bustled about, getting hot water for her to wash, and pullingdown blinds and lighting the gas.

  As soon as Pamela was left alone in her bedroom she threw off her hatand sat down on a chair and looked about her, taking stock of her newsurroundings. Of course she had not had time to notice much so far, butas she had passed through the square hall and up the soft-carpetedstairs to her bedroom, which was on the first floor landing, she had gotan impression of a house well furnished, but sombre. There were a greatmany thick plush curtains hanging over doors and at windows, and thewalls were crowded with pictures, most of them having heavy dark frames.And now, this room, which Miss Crabingway had said was to be Pamela'sbedroom--well, it was handsomely furnished and clean, but to Pamela'seyes, used to her airy, sparsely furnished little room at home with itsfresh white paint, oak furniture, and plain green linoleum, this roomseemed dark and overcrowded. The bedroom suite was dark mahogany, andhad as one of its pieces a huge wardrobe with two glass doors whichfilled almost the entire length of one wall; it was evidently intended,originally, for a much larger room than the one it was in at present;here it towered over the other furniture like a bullying giant. Thebedstead, dressing-table, and washstand, althou
gh they were of darkmahogany, were evidently not of the same set as the wardrobe. Pamelaobserved that the wallpaper was an all-over floral design in variousshades of green and raised gold roses; the gloomy, old-fashionedfireplace, with its marble mantelpiece, on which were arranged a scoreof old china ornaments and photo frames, and a massive marble clock, wasthe chief feature of the wall opposite the wardrobe. Thewindow-curtains, the duchess set on the dressing-table, and the coverleton the bed were the only touches of white to relieve the generalsombreness that prevailed. Pamela was sorry to see that there was athick soft carpet on the floor--she hated carpets in bedrooms. As shewandered round the room she was to occupy for many a day to come,becoming acquainted with it from various angles, she sighed; everythinglooked solid, expensive, and subdued, but it did not please her eye atall (though she had to admit to herself that everything seemed verycomfortable nevertheless).

  The clothes you choose, and the furniture you choose to surroundyourself with, are an index of your character to a stranger. To Pamela,who could not remember ever seeing Miss Crabingway, this room was anintroduction. Of Miss Crabingway's character she knew nothing, but inher mind's eye she pictured Miss Crabingway fond of solid, expensivethings, as large and dark, with rich, black, rustling dresses, and goldbrooches, and a lot of thick gold rings set with large stones on herfingers. Her face she could not imagine--except that it would bemassive and well preserved. Pamela never could imagine people's faces,in her mind's eye; she could conjure up people's figures and movementsclearly--but the faces were always dim and misty. It sometimes worriedher that even her mother's face or Michael's refused to be clearlyrecalled when she was away from them. Of course she knew their featuresby heart, and every twist and turn of their heads--but she could not seetheir features in her mind's eye.

  Having imagined Miss Crabingway, therefore, as well as she was able, shehastily flung off her outdoor things, washed her hands and face andbrushed her hair, and prepared to go downstairs. She was wearing herartistic, dark green frock, and as she stood a moment with her hand onthe door knob taking a final glance round the room, she looked as freshand clear-eyed a specimen of girlhood as one could wish to see.

  She made her way downstairs, and seeing an open door and a lighted roomon the left of the hall, she entered. It was, as she had expected, thedining-room. Dark, sombre furniture again, and rich hangings; there wasa cheerful fire burning in the grate, and a white cloth, and cups andsaucers on the table hinted at tea in the near future.

  Pamela had come in silently, her footsteps making no sound on the thickcarpet, and it was not until she had been standing for a few secondsinside the doorway that she noticed that there was some one already inthe room--some one who had evidently not seen, nor heard, Pamela enter.

  Crouching by the fire, and almost hidden by a big arm-chair that stoodon the rug, was a girl; she had her back to the door and did not move asPamela stood watching for a moment. The girl's thin hands werestretched out to the blaze as if she were cold, and her head leantagainst the side of the chair; she made no sound, but there wassomething in her attitude that suggested great dejection and loneliness.

  Pamela was just about to go forward when a slight sound between a soband a sigh escaped the figure, and Pamela paused. She felt that itwould make the girl embarrassed to think that she had been watched andoverheard. So Pamela backed stealthily out of the room (hoping shewouldn't run into Ellen or Martha), and crept up the stairs again; shewaited a moment on the landing, shut her bedroom door with a snap, thencame running downstairs, humming and patting the banisters with her handas she came--so as to give warning of her approach.

  She entered the dining-room. The girl was sitting in the arm-chair now,and stood up nervously as Pamela came in. She was a pale, thin girl,with large dark eyes and black hair, and her movements were nervous andjerky. She wore a dark-coloured skirt and a white silk blouse withshort sleeves to the elbow, which made her look very cold, andemphasized the thinness of her arms.

  The two girls gazed at each other for a second, then Pamela gave afriendly smile.

  "As there's no one here to introduce us, we'll introduce ourselves,shall we? I'm Pamela Heath," she said.

  "I'm Beryl Cranswick," said the girl, smiling shyly.

  Pamela held out her hand, and they shook hands.

  "I'm so glad to meet you," said Pamela. "I suppose we are the first twoto arrive."

  "I suppose so," said Beryl, which did not help matters forward at all.

  "What time did you arrive?" asked Pamela. "I came by the four o'clocktrain from Marylebone."

  "I arrived here this afternoon about three," Beryl informed her.

  "Oh, you've been here a long time then--it's just gone six now. Ididn't know you were here when I came--they didn't mention it to me....But have you had any tea yet?"

  Beryl shook her head.

  "Why--why ever not?" said Pamela, in surprise, ringing the bell by thefireplace. "We'll have some at once, shall we?"

  "They did ask me if I'd have some--but I said I'd wait. I--I didn'tlike to--to bother them--till you came," stammered Beryl.

  "Why, you must have been awfully cold and hungry after that long railwayjourney; you _should_ have had a cup of tea and something--I'm sure itwouldn't have been a bit of trouble to them," said Pamela, seizing thepoker and stirring up the fire. "Sit down and have a good warm--youlook quite cold still. We'll soon have this fire ... there! that'sbetter."

  Ellen appeared at this moment, in answer to the bell.

  "Oh, could we have some tea, please?" said Pamela. "What time are theother arrivals expected, can you tell me?"

  "I don't know, miss," replied Ellen. "At least, not forcertain--sometime to-day, that's all Miss Crabingway told us. The lastdown train gets in at Barrowfield at midnight."

  "Oh, I see. Well, it's no good waiting for them, I suppose--we'd betterhave tea now in case they don't arrive till midnight," said Pamela.

  "Very well, miss. I'll bring it in at once," and Ellen departed.

  It was rather a queer experience for Pamela, playing hostess in thisstrange house to strange people, but her frank, easy manners helped herconsiderably.

  Beryl, in Pamela's position, would have suffered agonies of indecisionand nervousness, and she felt thankful she was not in Pamela's shoes,though she certainly envied the unself-conscious ease with which Pamelamanaged things. They were really quite small, insignificant things, butto Beryl, very self-conscious and timid, they would have caused muchdismay. Beryl was passing through a stage of acute self-consciousness,not due to vanity in the slightest, but to nerves. Even to eat inpublic was a misery to her; although she was aware that she wasscrupulously particular in the way she drank or ate her food, yet shehated having to have meals with other people; she always felt that theywere watching her--criticizing her.

  And so, when she and Pamela had tea together for the first time, shehardly ate or drank anything. Unfortunately, by accident, she got a plumjam stone in her mouth and did not like to remove it, suffering muchdiscomfort in consequence until Pamela's attention being distracted tothe window blind behind her for a moment, Beryl quickly conveyed thestone to her plate again, and finished her tea in peace. Pamela, whowas as fastidious as anyone in her table manners, was yet quite easy,and appeared to enjoy a huge tea with comfort and daintiness combined.Beryl certainly did envy her that evening. She wondered what Pamelawould have done if she had got a plum stone in her mouth--and ratherwished this could happen so that she might see how easily Pamela wouldact. But Beryl's luck was out; no such opportunity occurred.

  Over tea Pamela gave Beryl a long account of her home and people, andthen began making inquiries about Beryl's home. But Beryl was strangelyreticent, and only stated a few bald facts. She was an orphan, she said;no brothers--no sisters--and her father and mother had been dead manyyears; her aunt, with whom she lived, had her home just outsideLondon--at Enfield. Beryl said she had never been to boarding-school;no, she didn't go out much--didn't know many
people--they lived veryquietly--and so on. From Beryl's manner Pamela gathered that she didnot wish to discuss her home or aunt, so the matter was dropped, andPamela suggested that when tea was over they should ask Martha or Ellento show them over the house, so that they would know their way about.

  Both Martha and Ellen professed themselves delighted to show them overthe house, and so both of them accompanied the two girls on a tour ofinspection. Martha, who liked to do things thoroughly while she wasabout it, insisted on them seeing every room and cupboard from top tobottom of the house, with the exception, of course, of the locked-uproom at the end of the first floor landing.

  On this landing there were five rooms: the locked-up room ran rightacross the front of the house, the locked door being opposite thestair-head; on either side of the landing were two rooms--all four to beused as bedrooms for the girls, each having a separate room to herself.The rooms allotted to Pamela and Isobel Prior were on the left, Isobel'sadjoining the locked room; Beryl's room was opposite to Pamela's, andher next-door neighbour was to be Caroline Weston.

  Another flight of stairs, starting near by Beryl's door, led up toMartha's and Ellen's rooms, the bath-room and airing cupboards, andanother spare bedroom.

  The ground floor included the dining-room (which we have already seen)and, on the opposite side of the hall, a large drawing-room with Frenchwindows that led into the garden. Next door to the dining-room, and atthe back of the house, was a queer little room with books all round thewalls, a huge writing-desk (much too large for the rest of thefurniture), half a dozen odd chairs, an old spinning-wheel, and a glasscabinet full of curiosities. This was called the 'study,' Martha said,where Miss Crabingway read or attended to her correspondence; but, inspite of the books, it looked more like an interesting museum of oddsand ends. A spacious kitchen and scullery with a big larder, and a cosylittle sitting-room, leading out of the kitchen, and set apart for theuse of Martha and Ellen, completed the ground floor.

  There seemed to be a good many windows in each room, so it ought to be alight house in the daytime, Pamela thought; otherwise her firstimpression of sombre richness was strengthened after seeing over therest of the house. The furniture and fittings were all good andheavy-looking; the walls were everywhere crowded with pictures--someoriginals, some copies of well-known pictures, and some photographicpicture studies of people and places. There were carpets and darkfurniture in every room. And what struck Pamela as being very strangewas that each room in the house had at least one odd-sized piece offurniture in it--either much too large or much too small to be inkeeping with the rest of the room; and this particular piece, in eachcase, seemed to occupy a very prominent position, so that one couldn'thelp noticing it. It reminded Pamela of the doll's house belonging toOlive at home, where the doll's kettle and saucepan were the same sizeas the chairs, and too big to stand on the doll's kitchen stove. Shewondered how Miss Crabingway had come to possess these odd bits offurniture, and was just looking at the extraordinarily small piano-stoolset before the huge grand piano in the drawing-room, when a sudden ringat the bell announced a fresh arrival, and Martha hurried out of theroom to open the front door.